Learning the Nazi Hoedown
by Chewing Gum
Summary: When Robbie gets shunted into directing the school play that his daughters are in, he doesn’t have a blind clue how to put on The Producers. He’d better learn in a hurry, though, before he goes insane. Can he do it? SportaRobbie
1. Overture

AN: Yes, this is a teaser chapter. I simply want to know what everyone thinks of this idea. I'll post the first "real" chapter as soon as it's edited. If you're read A Different Kind of Family, this story is set in the same universe, eleven years later.

**$-$-$-$**

"We need a play!" huffed the principal. "And a good one this time! We haven't had a decent turnout for a school play since we did Fiddler on the Roof eight years ago. And that was only because one of the performers was dared to take of her shirt in the middle of 'Tradition'."

"How about that Rent play, Mr. Clack?" the secretary, a fairly nice-looking woman in her thirties, young by her employers standards. "The kids are always talking about it."

"Ah, but I've seen the reviews, Miss Paile, and I didn't like what I saw!"

"Rodger and Ebert…"

"Ebert's rotting in Hell and Rodger's heading there on a fast horse! Cross-dressing! Lesbianism! The portrayal of homosexuality as a normal lifestyle! No, that will never do! What we need is…" His eyes wandered around, finally falling onto a copy of a movie magazine. A slightly overweight, middle-aged man stared back at him, beaming.

The man held up the magazine. "_This_ is what we need! He's a role model, he's funny, and he just released a new movie! A _musical _movie!"

Miss Paile looked at the cover. "Mr. Clack, sir? … That's Nathan Lane."

"Exactly! He did the voice of Timon in the Lion King, so you know he's family friendly! And I'm sure he'd never speak for those so-called 'gay rights'!"

"Actually, sir, I believe…"

"You know, he and that Ian McKellen fellow should do a movie together! Maybe about the downfall of Sodom, they could play Christian soldiers fighting for The Cause…"

"Sir, what play do you have in mind?"

"The Producers!"

Pamela Paile blinked. "Sir, have you ever _seen_ The Producers?"

"No, but I'm sure it's smashing! Now, call up the drama teacher, and…"

"Mr. Clack, Mrs. Coot went on a medical leave two months ago. She thought she was King Lear and kept going around trying to get her kingdom back from the students."

"Ah, yes, that's right… Well, who's going to direct this thing, then? Can't very well have a play without a director!" He looked through his window to the courtyard below. There were two blonde girls there, a taller one with dirty brown hair and a slightly shorter one with very, very blonde hair. One, the taller, turned a flawless back flip without any effort at all.

"Those are the Rotten-Ten girls, aren't they?"

"I believe so, sir."

"What's so special about them?"

"Both are on the gymnastics team, sir, and they brought home gold last competition. The younger, Allison, she's the junior captain of the cheerleading squad, and she's the Grade Ten rep on the student counsel."

"And the other?"

"Dana, sir. Captain of the gymnastics team, first line rugby, first line soccer, a star on the tennis team, and one of the most accomplished dancers in the school. She's vying for captain of the rugby team, she's quite a star. They call her the Great Dane, sir."

"Ah, of course! Well, have they shown any interest in the plays at all?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Allison's stared in the school play from middle school up, and Dana choreographed them better than the actual dance teacher."

"Are they the girls whose parents… have that little problem?"

She sighed again. "Yes, sir. Though I wouldn't call it a problem…"

"Those people, they know musicals, right?"

"Those people, sir?"

"You know what I mean. Miss Paile, get me Mr. Rotten's number, would you?"


	2. I Cain't Say No

_AN: Every chapter will contain, as well as another installment of my wonderful story, a quote from either a musical, a comment on a musical, or a quote from someone involved in a musical. Also, every chapter title is either the title of a musical or, more often, a song from one. Cookies to whoever guesses where they're from._

_If anyone caught the joke in the first chapter about Roger being dead and Ebert being alive, Roger Ebert is one person. Mr. Clack's just an idiot._

_Thank you to **Jareth-King**, **AnonyMiss731**, **Taylor-Hicks**, and **Mrs.Delrossi2.0**, who all took the time to leave such nice reviews. Now, to the story!_

_Edit: The fact that I mispelled Christian as Christina was bugging me, so I went back and changed it. Yes, I am simply so Satanic that my brain does not even reconize the word Christian. Take that, Ozzie._

**$-$-$-$**

"How did it begin?  
He walked into my office  
With his cockamamie scheme  
'You can make more money  
With a flop than with a hit!'"  
- The Producers

**$-$-$-$**

The telephone was ringing.

Robbie Rotten looked up, nicking his finger with his extremely hot soldering pen as he did so and cursing quite furiously. Turning it off, he fumbled around in a near blind attempt to locate the phone in the clutter and mess.

His lair, now that he wasn't living in it, had gotten rather muddled. It wasn't that it was a health code violation, but he simply preferred to have everything out so that it was close at hand, and it ended up that a workshop that would make any NASA engineer drool was strewn across the various counters in the underground studio.

Finding the cradle through sheer luck, Robbie picked up the phone, pressing it to his ear. "You're reached the workshop of Robert Rotten, this is he. How can I help you?"

You never knew when it could be investors. Well, technically, with caller ID it was fairly easy, but Allison had taken the phone apart when she was seven and the way she put it back together had completely shot the ID chip. Robbie had never quite gotten around to fixing or replacing it. Besides, people rarely called that number. He rarely gave it out. Really, the only people he could recall that had the number were a select few investors, Sportacus, the kids, and the school as an emergency contact number.

"Mr. Rotten? Good afternoon, it's Mr. Clack, the principal of LazyTown High School."

The man sighed, rolling his eyes and collapsing onto a nearby stool. "Which daughter has done what this time?"

"Oh, neither has done anything! I'm very sorry if I gave that impression, Mr. Rotten! Can I call you Robert?"

No one called him Robert. "Actually, I really prefer..."

"Thank you! In any case, we've decided upon a school play, and I've heard it through the grapevine that your two girls would be very interested in it."

"They would be. If you're looking for my permission, you have it, Mr. Clack."

"Actually, Robert, that's not why I'm calling. As you may know, our drama teacher, Mrs. Coot, has gone on… a sabbatical leave, and is unable to direct the school play as usual."

"I heard about that. Didn't she flip her wig and think she was Hamlet?"

"King Lear, I believe. But my point is that we're short a director."

"And this is my problem because…"

"Well, I was wondering if you or your… Ahem, _life partner_, had any experience in the theatre."

Robbie scowled. Not only did he hate the principal and being stereotyped into a frill-wearing, musical-loving sissy boy, but he detested the term life partner. He wasn't sure why, it simply sounded so… hippie. He was old fashioned. It was boyfriend when you were dating, lover when you were sharing a bed, and husband when you had a kid together. Life partners were for divas who wanted nothing more than to piss off every Christian they came across.

"And why would you expect my _husband_ or I to, Mr. Clack?"

"Well, it's just that you're… Well, Mr. Ten is quite… physical, so perhaps he danced? And you… Well, you just seem like such an artistic person…"

He rolled his eyes. "As it so happens, I was a tech on a few Broadway shows when I was younger, but…"

"A Few Broadway Shows?" the principal interrupted. "I do believe I saw that on PBS one night when our cable was out! And you played Atek, you say…"

Robbie was ten seconds away from drop kicking the phone across the room. "Tech is short for technician, Mr. Clack. I helped with the lights, the sound, the flies, mechanical matters. Now why exactly did you call me?"

"If we don't find a director, Robert, then we won't be able to put on a play."

The corner of the inventor's eye twitched. "I know what you're going to ask me, and the answer it an extremely firm no!"

"But you have experience in the theatre! You said it yourself!"

"If you want someone to work the lights and the soundboard, Mr. Clack, then I'm the man you want. But I know absolutely nothing about directing!"

"But the play is The Producers!"

"I've never even seen that and I know it's inappropriate!"

"I know, I know, Nathan Lane stars in it, and according to my secretary, he has an… affliction…"

"Affliction!"

"But this is even better for you! Surely you must know Nathan Lane!"

"Oh, of course!" Robbie's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "I see him all the time at the meetings!"

The older man's voice took on a tone of extreme fear, it became a squeak. "Er, meetings…?"

"Yeah, every gay, lesbian, bisexual and transsexual person in the world meets twice a month to take care of business. You know, decide which drapes are in, argue about whose idea Queer Eye was, discuss how to get homosexuality in mainstream culture, Rent was a big part of that by the way, ways to take over the school system to corrupt the children while they're still young, make fake proof that homosexuality is genetic, and, little by little, find ways to pass the gay marriage bill so we can finally destroy every single Christian marriage in the world."

Mr. Clack sounded positively sick now. "Is that so…?"

"For the love of God, I was _kidding_! No, there's no meetings, and I've never met Nathan Lake! I never even got around to seeing The Birdcage! The last time I watched a Nathan Lane movie, my kids were ten and he was chasing a CGI rat!"

"Robert, if you would just consider…"

"Look, stop calling me Robert! It's either Mr. Rotten, or Robbie. Not Robert! I lack the theatrical skills needed to direct a play! You only assume I have these skills because of my sexual orientation, and that sir, is just plain prejudice! It's like assuming that you, a white, middle-aged, straight, homophobic man, watches NASCAR!"

"… I love NASCAR…"

He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Look, Mr. Clack, I will not do this. That is my final word on the subject."

There was a metallic clang as the hatch was shut and Allison descended the ladder. "Hey, Dad? The toaster was taking way too long to toast, so I figured something was wrong with it and took it apart to fix it, but it's a bit different than our old one and I think I crossed some wires or something, and it's smoking a bit…" She jumped down onto the concrete floor. "Do you have one of those mini nitrogen fire extinguishers kicking around down here? Not that there's a fire! Just… better safe than sorry, and…"

"Robert, if you'd just…"

"For the last time, I will not director the high school play The Producers!"

Allison sprinted to the stool and snatched the phone from her father. "Mr. Clack? He'll do it!"

"No, I…"

She hung up, grinning happily. "The Producers! Alright! I get to make pigeon puppets!"

"I hate you. I really, truly hate you!"


	3. These Are My Children

_AN: Much thanks to AnonyMiss731, **authoraisarete**, **Magpie05**, **Kimmeth**, and **Ranma Higurashi**! And for all you who've never seen The Producers, I'd strongly advise you to rent it. It won thirteen Tonys. Beat that, High School Musical. And the last chapter title, I Cain't Say No, was from the musical Oklahoma._

**_$-$-$-$_ **

"Some day I'll land in the nut house  
With all the nuts and the squirrels  
There I'll stay  
Until the prohibition of  
Little girls!" - Annie

_**$-$-$-$**_

When people thought of ballerinas, they saw blonde haired, blue eyed, delicate little princesses in pink tutus and ruffles, spinning around in circles to classical music. It was a perfectly feminine hobby and profession, which was probably why the males in it were often ridiculed as being sissy boys.

Dana Rotten-Ten had blonde hair and blue eyes, but that was as far as she came to the traditional ballerina. She was fairly tall, nearly five seven, and had a slim build with small hips and a nearly non-existent chest. Her muscles were toned from hours of jogging, push ups, sit ups, and weight training.

No one ever expected to see a ballerina pumping iron or jogging with weights on their ankles and wrists, but quite honestly, that was what it took. Gymnastics merged into dance, and sports were fun and her excellence in that stemmed from what she did to be a dancer, but ballet would always be priority.

So, it was practise, practise, practise. Leap until your legs were sore, lift until your arms were ready to fall off, stretch until you could barely walk, and stand en pointe until your feet bled.

In fact, that was what she was doing now.

Dance Dance Revolution had been one of the few video games to ever find its way into the Rotten-Ten house. It wasn't that their fathers (Sportacus mostly, of course) disapproved of them, which they did, it was simply that they held little interest to them. Hell, if they wanted to be a ninja, flip backwards and high kick, they could go out on the lawn and do that.

But DDR was different. It was fun, it was physical, and it got rather competitive between the two. Dana had used it to train for dancing when she was younger (because fourteen was practically ages ago from sixteen), but then it could no longer serve a purpose. Now, however, she had gotten an idea.

She needed to improve her pointe work. So she had laced up her pointe shoes, fired up the old Playstation, and was currently pressing the arrows while trying to keep on her tiptoes the entire time. It was hard, and seemingly impossible, but it was working. Her balance was improving, her leg strength was increasing, and her feet weren't bleeding nearly as much as they usually did.

It was a slow song on Light Mode, she wasn't up to anything more yet, but she had nearly done it perfectly. When it ended, she brought both feet to the middle, put them together, and drew a deep breath as she balanced on the wooden blocks in her shoes. She was at the exact centre of the universe.

That was until her sister pushed her over and she fell onto the couch.

"Off the tube, twinkle toes."

"What the Hell!" she protested. "Did you really need to push me over?"

"Yes. I need the TV."

Dana grabbed a bottle of cold green tea from the coffee table, spinning off the cap. She noticed their father was being dragged along by his wrist by her younger sibling. Although she was only three months her junior, and had spent her entire life with their parents as opposed to her eleven years, she was still the younger daughter. "Why?"

"Because Dad's never seen The Producers."

Her jaw dropped. "You've never seen The Producers?"

Robbie shook his head slowly. "No…"

"You suck!"

"Excuse me? I thought you just said that I sucked! Me, the man who took you in! Who raised you! Who burnt his fingers more time than he could count to pay for those goddamn pointe shoes that you seem to wear out every month…"

"Okay, calm down, no need to throw a bitch fit," sighed Allison, striding over to the bookcase and running a finger along the spines of the DVDs that filled it. "Pop a squat and prepare to have your mind raped by the wonder that is known to mere mortals as Nathan Lane. Or at least his earthly shell."

"If we knew his true name and saw his true form, our heads would implode," Dana noted, taking a swig of the transparent green liquid.

Robbie rolled up his nose. "Ew, how can you drink that stuff? It tastes like grass."

"It's high in Vitamin C, and it boosts your energy levels without caffeine. Plus, it helps regulate your metabolism. What's not to love?"

"You are way too much like your father, you know that?"

"Ah, The Producers! Found it!" She drew the case out, waving it triumphantly and retrieving the disc inside before tossing the case to her father. It fell into his lap, and he didn't make the barest effort to catch it. "Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick."

He picked it up. "And Uma Thompson."

"Yeah, but she's non-original cast."

Allison grinned. "There is no Uma…"

"Only Zuul!" both of the girls laughed in unison.

Robbie just blinked. He didn't think he wanted to know.

"Ah, that one never gets old…" Allison sighed, popping the disc into the player and flopping down on the couch on the other side of Robbie and selecting play.

**

$-$-$-$

**

Two hours and thirty-three minutes later (they had watched the deleted scenes as well, of course), Allison, Dana, and Robbie were sitting on the couch, staring at the title menu that had come up, playing the same sound clip over and over again. Finally, Robbie spoke.

"I'm going to get lynched."

Allison raised an eyebrow. "You should have thought of that before you agreed to direct."

The corner of his eye twitched. It had been doing that increasingly often today. "That's it. I quit. I quit this whole damn thing. The school play can go hang itself, I'm not doing this. I'm going to call Mr. Clack up right now, and tell him to shove the directing job straight up his bigot ass."

"Too late to do that," sighed Dana. "Everyone knows already."

"What do you mean, everyone knows? The three of us and that dumbshit of a principal are not everyone."

She jerked a thumb in her sister's direction. "Miss Alligator Smile over there told everyone."

When Robbie looked, Allison was indeed grinning like an idiot. She was trying her best not to, which only widened her smile. "How did you tell everyone? You've been sitting here the entire time, and you weren't talking on the phone…"

She held up her cell phone, a pink-plated weapon that would have racked up more minutes than a stopwatch if it weren't for an unlimited calling plan. "Text messaging is a wonderful thing. I sent a message to Marcus, and of course he told Ashley since they're going out, so between them they told Grace, Michael, Eliot, Kelsey, and James, since they're pretty big in the drama club, and… Well, someone called Rita just messaged me saying that Uma Thompson is her hero, and so are you for taking on the job, and I don't even know who Rita is."

"She's a dancer," noted Dana, who was working on her second bottle of cold green tea. "Two years lessons, average skill, excellent tapper but she can't pointe to save her soul."

"Thank you, Miss Priss."

"You're welcome."

All three heads turned when they heard the front door open.

"Robbie? Allie? Dana? Where is everyone?"

Allison's grin widened, something her father hadn't thought possible. "Papa's home.."

"Don't you even dare!"

Both girls took off running. "Papa! Guess what Dad's doing!"


	4. Text Messages 1

AN: Yes, I'm cheap. This isn't an actual chapter, it's a few of the text messages that are currently causing Robbie so much grief, along with some character set-up. The real next chapter is nearly done, but I've been really busy rehearsing lately. It'll be up as soon as it's done.

**

$-$-$-$ 

**

Dramaqueen2: Omg, did you hear that Allie's dad's directing the school play this year? It's The Producers!

Techdeck: Sportacus is directing! He is soooo dreamy, lol!

Dramaqueen2: I think it's the other one. Robbie.

Techdeck: What the hell does Robbie know about directing?

Dramaqueen2: What does Sportacus know about directing?

Techdeck: He's ripped, he doesn't have to know a damn thing.

Techdeck: D'ya hear about Robbie Rotten directing the play this year?

Balletrat: Oh, god. This should be good!

Balletrat: Hey, Kelse! Your girlfriend's dad's directing this year!

Vangogh: Ex-girlfriend, jerk. What does Sportacus know about directing?

Balletrat: It's Robbie, and probably next to nothing. And everyone knows she still likes you.

Vangogh: Shut up, Grace! It was three months ago, and it was a mutual break-up!

Vangogh: Hey, guess what's up! Robbie's directing the play!

#1Phan: You're joking me. Robbie Rotten?

Vangogh: Yep, Robbie Rotten. You and me going to swing by the café tomorrow and grab an ice cap before school?

#1Phan: No can do, I gotta be there early. There's two new kids, and I have to show one of them around. They're moving here from NYC, that should be a dream…

Vangogh: Good luck. BTW, it's The Producers!


	5. We Can Do It

_AN:My spellchecker hates the name Thurman. It does. It changed it to Thompson. Of course, I probably should have been actually paying attention instead of pushing Correct All… Sorry about the long delay, I meant to post before I went away for a week, but I had computer trouble…_

By the way, Allison and Dana are adopted, and are not biological sisters. I'm not quite up to writing a mpreg fic at the moment… For those more interested in their origins, however, they'll probably be a bit more on their birth mothers later on.

One more thing! The lyrics used in this chapter are from "We Can Do It" from The Producers. A girl with two fathers randomly breaking into a Broadway song… Can't you just smell the stereotypes? Seriously, though, Allison's a gay man in a woman's body.

**$-$-$-$**

"Mr. Bialystock, please stop this song  
You've got me wrong  
I'm not a strong a person as you think  
Mr. Bialystock, just take a look  
I'm not a crook, I'm just a schnook  
The bottom line is that I stink!  
I can't do it! You see Rio, I see jail!

I can't do it! I can't do it!  
I cannot, cannot, cannot, cannot,  
Cannot, cannot do it!  
Cause I know it's gonna fail!"  
- The Producers

**$-$-$-$**

"I swear to God, Sportacus, if you laugh, I'm going to divorce you."

"Legally, we're not married, so you can't divorce me. And I'm not going to laugh." This was said hurriedly while the man was trying desperately to hold it in. Eventually he bit down on his finger, face reddening slightly.

Robbie crossed his arms, glaring at the hero. "You're mean, you know that? After your daughters get me into this mess…"

"My daughters, now, are they?"

"I never wanted kids in the first place!"

"And then we adopted Allison and you swore you'd never make one more dead baby joke as long as you lived."

"And then I said I only wanted one child…"

"And then you saw a picture of Dana and you started squeaking."

"I did not squeak!"

"You know," mused Allison, from the other side of the counter where she and Dana were picking at a colander of grapes. "I seem to remember some squeaking."

"You were five years old, you don't remember it!"

Sportacus couldn't take any more, and burst out laughing. "You! Directing a high school play! The Producers! This is just too good!"

His husband scowled furiously, smacking him upside the head with little results. "Look, would you shut up!"

"You're going to end up killing someone!" he protested, still bent over with laughter. "What possessed you to agree to this!"

"I didn't agree! Allison agreed!"

"You don't know anything about directing!"

"I did work on Broadway, thank you very much!"

"You were a tech!"

"Hey, Broadway is Broadway, Sport!"

"Don't you wish we had parents that fought about normal stuff like bills and who could have married someone better?" sighed Dana. "With ours, it's always 'Don't get killed' and 'No back-flipping in the house' and 'If you bring that hunk of moving metal in the house I'm going back to Iceland'." She threw a grape up in the air, catching it in her mouth.

Allison eyed her jealously, considering whether or not she herself could replicate the stunt. "Yeah, but it never gets boring with those two. I mean, how many kids have one of the most brilliant inventors of the decade and a superhero for a father?"

"That I know of? Two. And he's not a superhero, he's…"

"A slightly above average hero. Like I haven't heard that a million times…" She twisted a grape from its stem, tossing it up and leaning back to catch it. She did catch it in her mouth. Seconds before she toppled backwards off of the stool she had been perched on top of, however. Before she hit the tiled floor, however, she found herself gazing up at the blue eyes of a slightly peeved hero. She gave a sheepish grin.

Sportacus rolled his eyes, setting her upright. "You always have to try something stupid, don't you?"

"You never learn if you never try," she quipped, sticking her tongue out slightly in her typical immature fashion. "Which really makes me wonder about your standpoint on recreational drug use…"

"I'll clear that up, then," said Robbie, scowling at her. "We ever catch you with any non-prescription drug, you'll be sleeping on the doorstep until you're eighteen."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

"So what are you going to do about this whole mess?" Sportacus asked, placing his hands on his hips. "You're not actually going to do it, are you?"

His husband gave a deep sigh. "It really doesn't seem like I have much choice. If I back out now, the play won't happen, and the entire town is going to think I'm a world class prick."

"More than they already do."

"You know what, Allison? Shut up."

"Look, Robbie," Sportacus said, regarding him with a level gaze. "I really can't see this ending well."

"But if you don't do it, there's not going to be a play!" counted Allison, her voice bordering on whining. "Besides, you've got us to help you!"

"You'll excuse me for not being filled with confidence…"

"I challenge you to find anyone in the school who knows as much about musicals as me! I can be your assistant director, and I'll personally oversee the creative engineering department!"

"Creative engineering? How big is this thing going to be!"

"It's a loose term, but the point is, I can manage most of the artistic decisions, leaving you free reign over the tech department! And with Dana managing the dancers and the choreography…"

"You know," mused Robbie. "In theory, it could work… But…"

"What did Louis say to Clark when everything looked bleak?" implored Allison, leaping up onto the stool. "What did Sir Edmund say to Tenzing as they struggled towards Everest's peek? What did Washington say to his troops as they crossed the Delaware? I'm sure you're well aware!"

The man blinked. "What'd they say?"

The blonde jumped onto the counter, bursting into song. "We can do it! We can do it!

We can do it, me and you!

We can do it! We can do it!

We can make our dreams come true!"

"Allison, get off of the counter before you break your neck! And no amount of show tunes can convince me to do this!"

"Everything you've ever wanted is just waiting to be had!

Beautiful gir… guys! Wearing nothing but… Damn, it doesn't rhyme! Dana, what rhymes with guys?"

"Rye," muttered Robbie. "Which is what I need a good strong glass of right now."

"Dad, please do this?" Dana asked, sticking out her bottom lip. "You'll be a hero to the drama club!"

"Yeah! Besides, it'll look great on a resume if you ever decide to get a real job," added her sister, planting her hands on the edge of the counter and going up into a handstand.

"I told you to get off of there! I'm not up for a trip to the ER tonight! And do you have any idea how much I make for not having a 'real job'? I've got patents worth more money than what it costs to produce a B-list film!"

Allison bent her arms, launching herself into the air, flipping once before landing neatly on her feet. "Exactly! You've been working so hard, you need a break! Nothing like being around fresh young minds to jumpstart those creative juices!"

"You call you and your friends fresh young minds? More like used minds…"

"Come on! Don't tell me that the genius Robbie Rotten, who's been compared to Leonardo da Vinci, is intimidated by the task of directing a school play!"

"I am not intimidated!"

"Just lay off of it, Allison," sighed Dana. "He knows he can't do it, leave him alone."

"Yeah, you're right. He probably doesn't have the balls to do it."

"Oh, reverse psychology and insulting my manhood. Very sneaky, you two. It's pretty obvious whose side the smarts come from."

"Hey!" Sportacus protested. "One, I resent that! Two, they come from neither side of our families, because they're adopted! They don't share our DNA!"

Robbie paused, blinking. "Oh, yeah… I forget sometimes."

"So you'll do it?" asked Allison, now fiddling around with her phone.

"I didn't say that!"

"Do it!"

"No!"

"Do it!"

"No!"

"Do it!"

"No!"

"Directoroftheschoolplaysayswhat."

"What?"

"Sweet deal!" she crowded, holding up her cell phone. "I recorded that! That, father dearest, is a legally binding oral contract. Now you have to do it!"

Sportacus started laughing again, and Robbie let go a single word of fury.

"Goddamnit!"


	6. Cool Rider

_"Geometry and history is just a pain,   
Biology and chemistry destroys my brain.   
Well don't they know that I deserve a better fate?   
I'm really much too young to matriculate."   
- "Back to School", Grease 2 _

Charlie stood by the bus loop, glancing at his watch. The principal had told him the new kid's bus was going to be there at eight. It was eight thirty. He would have had time to grab a coffee and make it back with plenty of time. Damn Clack…

"Think it's almost here?" asked the girl standing beside him, a year older. It was her job to take reign of the older new kid. They hadn't even been given their names.

"It bloody well better," he muttered. "Or I'm taking off."

No sooner had he spoke that a bus pulled in, the students piling off, and Charlie spotted who he was looking for. Mr. Clack had only given him one description of the girl, but it seemed to be more than enough.

He shook his head, walking up to her. "Hey! You! New kid! I'm showing you around, your brother goes with that girl over there!"

The blonde boy nodded, heading off in the direction he had been pointed, leaving his sister with him.

She seemed pleasant enough. Her eyes were brown, she had a girly aura of 'pretty' radiating from her, and she was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that matched the colour of her hair; pink.

"Nice hair," he commented, raising an eyebrow.

"Er, thanks…" She seemed insanely nervous.

"What dye do you use?"

"Actually, it comes in like that naturally. They, the doctors I've seen, have no idea what causes it. It just… does what it does."

The boy paused. "Wait a minute… A teacher here, Mrs. Byte…"

"She's my aunt. I'm Evie Meanswell."

"Evie?"

"My full name's Evangeline, my parents got it from some poem or something… It's a pain to say the whole thing."

"Ah. Well, let's get this show on the road, shall we?" Just as they were about to step off onto the pavement, a motorcycle whizzed past them, going quite a bit faster than it should have been.

The rider, who was wearing a leather jacket with some sort of animal on it, vaulted up over the curb, not letting up the gas as they approached the parking lot. It was headed straight for a blue Volvo. The principal's blue Volvo. At the last minute, the rider stuck their foot down, the bike twisting one hundred and eighty degrees and placing it facing outwards, right beside the car. The engine was killed and the kickstand was lowered before they dismounted.

Evie gaped in amazement. "Who _is_ that?"

Charlie sighed, shaking his head. "That's the Great Dane. Something else, isn't she?"

"The Great Dane?"

"Dana Rotten-Ten. She's the sports hero of the school, hands down. She and her sister, Allison, they're probably the most eligible bachelorettes in LazyTown High. There're a year older than us."

"Why did she just do that?"

"Because she can. It pisses Clack, the principal, off to no end. He can never call her on it, though. She keeps her nose clean, though if something's wrong, Clack tries to pin it on her. Unlike Allison… God, she's a hellcat. She's been in more fights this year than I can count on one hand, and it's the bloody middle of October. The principal has it in for the pair of them, and everybody knows it."

"Why?"

"They've got two fathers, one's the town's hero, the other's an inventor. Those two were the first to really make a statement in this Hicksville about being gay. A lot of people took it hard, Clack included. Sportacus, the hero, he got the shit beat out of him when they first announced they were moving in together."

"Oh my God… That's awful!"

"It's settled down a bit since then," he assured her. "Clack's still touchy about it, though. Right old fashioned."

Dana, still quite a ways from them, took off her helmet, untangling the two braids she had gathered her hair into from her jacket before shedding it and shaking her head out, glad to have rid it from the weight of the helmet.

It was then that the boy noticed his companion was staring a bit. "What?"

"She… She's really pretty…" Evie muttered softly.

Charlie double-checked to make sure they were both looking at the same person. "Dana? Pretty? God, don't let her hear you say that. You should see Allison. That girl could be a model. I think she got an offer one time, but she turned it down. So, you bat for the our team?"

Evie's face flushed a brilliant red. "Y-Yeah, I guess, I know she probably…"

"Is our star pitcher," Charlie laughed, rather amused at the girl's embarrassment. "Matter of fact, she's on the market as of now. She just broke it off with Ellie Cole. Everyone thinks they've still got it for each other, but I don't know… See, Elle's an artist and Dane's just a total jock. They just didn't work, you know?"

She frowned slightly as the girl headed in, stripping off her leather jacket. "What was that one the back of her jacket? It looked like a rat."

"Lemming," she was corrected. "It's our school mascot. The LazyTown Lemmings."

Evangeline withheld a groan as she followed Charlie in through one of the side doors. She hadn't been at her new school for ten minutes, and she already had a crush on someone who still loved her ex, and she already hated the school mascot. A lemming, for god's sake. A lemming. A rodent who ran off cliffs. Why not the LazyTown Leopards, or Lions, or even Lemurs! But Lemmings…?

Allison walked through the halls, raised heels making a slight clicking on the tiles as she strutted her way to math class. She was pretty, and she knew it. Pink top, styled hair, nail polish, and cherry lip gloss. She was actually addicted to cherry lip gloss.

Of course, most people knew that this girl deemed a homeroom angel wasn't someone you wanted to mess with. You didn't made lewd commented to Allison Rotten-Ten. You never said that Andrew Lloyd Webber was anything less than a god on earth. And you never, ever made a fag joke within thirty feet of the girl.

Well, some people did. But that never turned out well.

"Hey, Rotten! Heard your dads got an offer to be in the Brokeback Mountain Sequel!"

Allison didn't even turn around. She knew it was Billy Bloise. A year ago she would have beaten him up for less, but she was trying to be more mature. More self-controlled. More creative. "Yeah, but they turned it down! They're auditioning for the sequel to Fried Green Tomatoes instead. Beer Battered Onion Rings. I'll see you at the premiere!"

"Fuck you, Rotten!"

"Oh, original." She kept walking. She could hear him following her.

"Hey, you stop shooting your mouth off, girly, or I'll wire it shut."

"Okay, but only if you tell your mother to stop calling my sister all hours of the night. She's got a life outside pleasuring her, you know."

That did it. He took a swing at her.

She was quicker. In one swift movement she was turned around and her heeled boots were on the doors of the lockers. She pushed off of them, kicking the boy upside the head before landing neatly as he fell to the ground. Allison tossed her head, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Go go anti-homophobic violence."

"Sweet, I got that on camera!" crowed a member of the crowd who was gathering. Some were cheering, others were shaking their head at Billy's stupidity, and others were simply pissed off. "God damn, that was like… Matrix shit!"

"Thank you, thank you, try to catch my lunchtime show. Stay in school. Keep your mouth shut to Clack. Auditions for the school musical are coming up, come and try out. I gotta get to math."

"Older new kid", as he had been dubbed, had seen the display through a crowd of people, but had seen enough to be thoroughly amazed. "Who is she…?"

Catarina Allan rolled her eyes. "Allison Rotten-Ten. She is _such_ a stunt monkey… I think her birth father's Chuck Norris. She's pretty, she can sing, she can act, she can fight, and she's a genius with machinery, but it she doesn't get a hold on her temper she's going to end up doing life in Shawshank."

"Is she ever pretty…" Erik Meanswell muttered, watching the girl leave.

"You haven't got a chance with her. Come on, lover boy, I'll show you the cafeteria."

He reluctantly followed, but glanced back. "Chuck Norris doesn't believe in Germany…"

"Hmm?"

"Nothing."


End file.
